


He Called Her Mentor

by Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, I am so going to hell for this, Implied Relationships, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492/pseuds/Maria_and_Aguilars_Codex_1492
Summary: There was no way that Aguilar is going anywhere else either, not with Maria’s vivid blue eyes wide and drugged and still somehow so frightened. It was a look that he had never seen before in his stoic mentor.~~~Or what happened during Aguilar and Maria's imprisonment from their time at the village to the City of Seville.





	He Called Her Mentor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [batbitchwitgun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batbitchwitgun/gifts).



> This comes from after watching the film, my friend and myself, began to coming up with ideas as to why Aguilar and Maria never escaped during their journey from the village to the city of Seville. Then she asked me if I had noticed Ojeda's obsession with Aguilar and Maria and I just...no not at first, but then it had me wondering so I wrote this...

There is shouting in the background, a onslaught of screams, sounds that would be humiliating if it weren’t for the sight before him: Maria, lean and spread and nude across this giant of a man’s lap.  Ojeda holds one narrow hip in his meaty palm like a child with a doll, and there’s no way that Maria is going anywhere else. Not even if she had a kick that was as hard as a horse. There was no way that Aguilar is going anywhere else either, not with Maria’s vivid blue eyes wide and drugged and still somehow so frightened. It was a look that he had never seen before in his stoic mentor. He should have known, should have protected Maria, should have lured the Knights Templar away until he’d known that Maria and the Prince of Granada were safe, but he hadn’t, and here they are now.  A snatch and grab, right off of the side of the cliff, and all of it was because Aguilar had chosen to open the princes cage instead of taking control of the horses. He should have thought ahead, he should have known of what was to come from the path that they had taken, straight off of the cliffs. Ojeda's smile is unpleasant. It sends a chill down his spine upon seeing it.  


  


The spread of Maria's hips can’t be comfortable.  She’s pinioned open, joint-crackingly open, with arms tucked tight and tied up to her front, knees on either side of Ojeda’s own and-and... Aguilar’s mind skips a beat, glosses the details because Maria would be so embarrassed, so mortified pink if she weren’t drugged out of her skull right now. They both would be if they had simply spit out the concoction that had been given to them upon stopping at the inn for the night. His partner-his mentors-body is flushed and reacting in ways that would have made him wish that he could look away.

Ojeda twists his fingers and electricity dances up Aguilar’s spine. The shouting, the screams, from outside only seems to grow louder. But at least it isn’t cold, or it doesn’t feel that way to Aguilar, who has beads of sweat forming at his hairline, though whether that’s from the temperature or the vision before him or the sheer force of rage pushing through his skin, there’s no way of knowing.  Even so, Maria doesn’t look cold—her nipples are knots of pink red flesh tight on her chest and heaving with breath.  Maria makes a taut, high sound and Aguilar nearly echoes it.  Ojeda manages to wrestle her subdued form down, to grab her plump flesh with both hands and pins her under the weight of his fury as the hand on Maria’s hip pushes further, makes inroads toward that sweet looking cock and Maria hunches into the air eagerly.  


  


Their friend is the silent type, it is rather surprising considering that before he had always yelled whenever chasing them. But this is not a chase through the streets of Spain. Ojeda looks pleased with Maria’s limp passivity, her fluid slump against him. He’s frankly enormous in a way that Aguilar has only rarely seen; he dwarfs the curl of Maria’s hip in his hand, and in the other—He had never considered her to be a small woman, she was taller than most and just as built from free running, but it all pales against the man holding her. 

Aguilar grits his teeth as the buzzing of the world around him climbs again and his own cock dips, wags unrepentant and bare in the air between them. Maria's drugged expression goes milk soft and attentive in a vague way; together herself and Ojeda watch a bead of precome form at the end of Aguilar’s cock and work its way down the shaft in a thin dribble.  Sober, Maria will hate herself for the way she whines now at the sight, as though her bond with her novice has ever been a secret, and Aguilar swallows hard against the despair that tastes like bitter salt in the back of his throat.

  


He’s never brought it up.  They’ve never talked about it, the way Maria’s eyes follow him when he visits her office courters, the proto-hidden blades he’s destroyed only to have more pressed eagerly into his hand when he returned. A witty remark of novice's being useless with the blade dripping from her tongue. They’ve never talked about it because Maria’s pride has forbidden it almost as much as the conducts of the Brotherhood does; they’ll never talk about it now but Maria will still hate him for it.  She’ll hold him responsible for every lost piece of weaponry just as she did since they first met, now, and every drop of sweat between them. Now their past disputes mean nithing, every dripping sign of arousal is all that can be focused on. Maria watches Aguilar with a cock up her cunt as this mountain of a man feels them both up.  Maria will never forgive him—or worse, she’ll forgive Aguilar and blame herself. The failure at the village, with the Prince of Granada, with _this-_ Either option is untenable, and any other outcome unfeasible.  

  


The next assault draws an unwilling groan from Aguilar’s lips and Ojeda’s grin goes wide.  The length of his muscular legs and hips looks so small in his hand, the same as it does Maria's, and Aguilar watches him roll the taunt flesh of his skin between his fingers like he’s trying to sharpen a dull blade; in his lap, his other hand reaches its destination and Maria whimpers.  Aguilar’s only a little ashamed at how it makes his cock throb harder.  Ojeda’s hand is almost enough to obscure Maria's breast entirely—Maria’s not a small woman, not really, not where it counts, and she tends to hide it very well beneath her blue robes. Proportional, Aguilar’s mind supplies, and he shivers at the first stages of dissociation.  He can’t afford to separate himself from this situation, to get lost considering the size of his partner-his mentors-body so that he loses the ability or even desire to save her from this fate.   


  


But Ojeda’s hand is enormous, clearly seven, perhaps eight inches wide, and it isn’t until his groping strokes pull back, fingers flaring to span across Maria’s lower belly, that the wet pink lips of Maria's cunt seem to shiver upon contact.  Maria makes a desperate sound and Ojeda nuzzles at her ear, almost affectionately, as though he couldn’t snap her in two like a twig.  Maria shakes in his arms, and Aguilar shakes with the force of his anger.

  


“I will kill you,” Aguilar promises fervently. The conquestidor, the Templar, Ojeda smiles slow and mean.  

He leaves Maria's body curved proud and hungry along the line of his hip, fat with muscles and flesh, and Aguilar’s eyes lock on those enormous, fat fingers as they probe, dip down to pet the curve of her ass in an almost affectionate caress, nudge deeper and lower.  Maria squirms, makes an unhappy sound, curls her knees as best he can to protect herself until Aguilar has a clear view: Ojeda is trying to feed his fingers dry into the clench of Maria’s body, two thicker together than Aguilar’s cock and the skin of Maria’s body is pinking up with irritation. She’s clenched against them, and Aguilar’s heart clenches, too.  


  


“Stop.”  And then, louder, “Stop!  I said stop; you’ll split her in two.  You’ll tear her up, you brastard. Surely you understand that!”  It’s hard to keep his composure; Ojeda’s hand stops its pressing and Maria arches, tucks herself in as far as her spread pose will allow, which isn’t very far.  And even though he knows—he knows better, knows in that bone-deep way that comes from thousands of hours of training, of drills, of testing, knows just how horrible it is to ask: “What do you want?”  It’s rolling over.  It’s showing his belly.  Ojeda laughs.

  


He’s careful as he sets Maria to the side. She looks jelly limbed from being spread so far so long, and whatever she’s been dosed with has hed compliant, watching with mild interest as Ojeda only leans back further in the silk covered bed with a leer.  Watching as he slips out of his partner. Watching as he feeds a cock as thick as Aguilar’s wrist through the palm of his hand.  “Suck,” Ojeda tells Aguilar. Aguilar gulps at the weight of Maria’s eyes on him.  He clambers out of his corner at the end of the bed and sinks to his knees.

  


The bed is surprisingly warm beneath him, considering this rooms stone base and its cold rock walls.  The sheet is plush; Torquemada’s minions have found this lushly appointed inn to do their dirty business.  Even the ambient air temperature is pleasant, and Aguilar notes it even as Ojeda curls his fingers in his hair with a curious gentleness.  He lets himself be guided in, lets Ojeda coax his lips with the fat head of his cock and paint his lower lip in salt.  Diddling the Templar must have done it for him, Aguilar thinks idly, and it isn’t until Maria is yelping, thick curls between her thighs caught between thicker fingers as Ojeda pulls her hair, that Aguilar lets his attention snap back to what he’s doing. Ojeda forces a kiss out of Maria, mashing his lips against his teeth with wet and sloppy lipping, and Aguilar opens his mouth.

  


It’s an animal smell, a feral taste, is cock.  There’s not much showering in local assassinations;  he follows the odour on the back of his tongue to the wrinkles and folds of skin where cock meets body and noses his way back up with little darting kisses, but the first press of skin to the flat of his tongue is still shocking.  He lets his lips wrap around and relishes the way the steel muscles beneath his fingertips go looser, laxer.  There’s enough there to split his jaw, to spread his lips until they feel like they’ll crack; he can’t reach the root of it with any nearness, even when the toy up his arse gives a particularly vicious hum of approval and Ojeda manages to steal an extra two inches from his startled open throat.  His vision is blurring in black spots when Ojeda draws back again.

  


Everything is sore, everything is salt, everything is wet.  Ojeda is fondling Maria again, fingers delicate and ginger on her breast as Maria squirms against his side in pleasure.  Aguilar finds himself closer to Maria's slick openinh than he’d ever thought he’d be, and from here he can see the sweet wet of it, the delicate flush of thin skin as it slides in that huge hand.  He’s staring, and Maria is staring back, and Ojeda is drawing his bruised throat up and off his cock with a chuckle.  All it takes is a push, really.

  


Maria really makes the sweetest sound when Aguilar’s lips wrap around her; tender and stretched as his throat feels, he still finds enough energy in his mouth to suckle away at the tight buds on her chest.  He swallows and feels Maria’s groan in his own chest.  And Maria’s fingers tie themselves in knots on his belly, so he reaches up, untangles one hand, and guides it to his head. Maria is responsive, whimpering and squirming beneath him as he sucks until the feeling of a thick finger is inside Aguilar. Dragged back and across his prostate and out in a way that the Catholic church would surely condemn. Aguilar’s surprised moan makes Maria cry out, and then-

And then the fingers pace is replaced with a nudging, a thick and unrelenting nudging that becomes a slow, deep push that feels just as bruising as it felt in his throat.  He feels—at least it isn’t—he’d have split Maria apart, Aguilar reminds himself firmly, and there’s damp and enough slick to get a second finger in. He only barely manages not to bite as he sobs around Maria's breast. There can be no thinner line, in that moment, between their pleasure and pain. There’s no possible way.  


Ojeda seems satisfied, though.  As Aguilar’s body relaxes its spasms again, Maria presses herself even harder against Ojeda's lap, sinking onto even more of his cock. All the while Aguilar can feel the bump of Ojeda’s knuckles against his ass as he fists himself furiously, pumping into them both.  And Maria’s trembling sensitive—Aguilar presses the broad flat of his tongue along the thin fold of his flesh around her taunt flesh and Maria shudders, twitches hot and sweaty beneath both men. Ojeda grunts upon the woman before him as she cries out, the both of them reaching their peak, as even Aguilar himself spills over the edge.   


The three of them lay there. Bodies dripping with sweat and bodily fluids that normally do not grace their skin. Aguilar looks at Maria, meeting her blue eyes, as the drug slowly begins to leave their bodies. Whether they burn at the stake by the next day or follow the Sultan to an early grave remains unknown. But for tonight, they will drink in the pleasures of flesh with the Templar that had tried to kill them days before.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I write more with these three?
> 
> And I hope you all found this good with just a sprinkle of distrubing.


End file.
